The Gallery of Ghosts 0236.txt
The gallery opening was the kind of event where people pay eight dollars for champagne that tastes like regret and pretend to understand Rothko. Maya Sullivan stood near the entrance with a clipboard, smiling the particular smile that says I am here to serve you and also I am already gone. Julian Voss approached her at 9:17 PM. He was forty-five, Irish-American, and wore his wealth the way a...
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